CHAPTER 50: CHAPTER 50: THE NIGHTMARE DEMON 2

IN THE AFTERMATH of Mason’s departure, the study felt hollow, as if Mason’s presence had somehow drained the warmth from the very air.

Grayson stood frozen in the center of the room, his face a mask of anguish and barely controlled rage.

And Mailah, pressed against the wall with her wrist still burning from Mason’s touch, finally understood why Dr. Morrison had warned her so urgently about avoiding stress.

Because looking at Grayson’s devastated expression, she realized that the peaceful reunion she’d hoped for had just become infinitely more complicated—and infinitely more dangerous.

The silence stretched between them like a chasm, filled with unspoken fears and the lingering echo of Mason’s threat.

Grayson remained frozen in the center of the room, his hands still clenched into fists, his shoulders rigid with barely contained violence. The afternoon light streaming through the windows seemed pale and inadequate against the darkness that had settled over them.

Mailah could feel her carefully recovered strength wavering under the weight of what had just occurred.

The spot where Mason had touched her wrist throbbed with an alien wrongness, as if something foreign had been grafted beneath her skin. She pressed her other hand against it, trying to contain whatever violation he had committed, but the gesture felt futile.

Finally, she found her voice, though it came out smaller than she intended. "What just happened?"

Grayson’s jaw tightened, and for a moment she thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with suppressed emotion. "My brother being his manipulative self."

The casual way he dismissed what had felt like a fundamental assault on her very being made her stomach clench. She pushed herself away from the wall, taking a tentative step toward him, though something in his posture warned her to maintain distance.

"Are all your brothers like that?" she asked, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice.

Grayson’s blue-gray eyes met hers, and she saw depths of pain there that took her breath away. The careful mask he usually wore had cracked, revealing glimpses of something raw and ancient beneath.

"We’re all demons," he said simply, the words falling between them like stones into still water. "We’re all the same in some way."

The stark admission hung in the air, and Mailah found herself at a loss for words. She had known intellectually that Grayson wasn’t human, had seen evidence of his supernatural nature, but hearing him group himself with his brother’s casual cruelty sent a chill through her chest.

"I don’t believe that," she said quietly, though her voice carried less conviction than she would have liked.

Something flickered across Grayson’s expression—surprise, perhaps, or hope—but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

"What did Mason mean?" she pressed, needing to understand the full scope of what they were facing. "About his realm, about feeding on my terror?"

Grayson’s entire body went rigid, and she watched him struggle with how much to reveal. The conflict was written clearly across his features—the desire to protect her warring with the need for honesty.

"I’ll make sure you’re safe," he said finally, meeting her eyes with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Mason won’t be able to lay a hand on you. I won’t let him."

The fierce protectiveness in his voice sent warmth flooding through her chest, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the cold fear that had taken root there.

She remembered too clearly when Mason touched her, the sense that something essential had been torn away.

"But he already has, hasn’t he?" she said, lifting her wrist to show the faint mark that had appeared where Mason’s fingers had gripped her. The skin looked normal, but she could feel the wrongness pulsing beneath the surface like a second heartbeat. "He said he had access to my essence now. To my dreams."

Grayson’s face went pale, and she saw his hands tremble slightly before he clenched them tighter. "Mailah—"

"He meant the nightmare realm, didn’t he?" she continued, pieces of the conversation falling into place with horrible clarity. "He feeds on fear and trauma through dreams. And now he can reach me there."

The devastation that crossed Grayson’s features was answer enough. He moved toward her then, reaching out as if to touch her, but stopped himself just short of contact. His hand hovered in the air between them, and she could see the war being fought in his eyes.

"I won’t let him hurt you," he repeated, but the words carried the weight of desperation now.

"How?" The question escaped before she could stop it, raw and frightened. "How can you protect me from something that can reach me in my sleep?"

Grayson’s expression crumbled, and she saw the full scope of his anguish laid bare.

The vulnerability in his face, the way he looked at her as if she were something precious and irreplaceably fragile, sent her heart racing for entirely different reasons.

Despite everything—the supernatural threats, the impossible situation, the very real danger—she found herself taking a step closer to him.

"Grayson," she said softly, and something in her tone made him look up sharply.

The space between them felt charged with electricity, thick with unspoken longing and the terrible knowledge that time was running out. She could see the hunger in his eyes—not just the supernatural need that drove his kind, but something deeper, more human. The way he looked at her made her skin flush with heat despite the cold fear in her chest.

"You’re going to have to feed, aren’t you?" she said quietly, though the words felt like they were being torn from her throat. "That’s what this is really about. Mason’s forcing your hand."

Grayson’s intake of breath was sharp, pained. "I won’t—I can’t—" He ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it disheveled. "You don’t understand what you’re suggesting."

"Then explain it to me," she said, taking another step closer despite the warning in his eyes. "Help me understand what we’re dealing with."

"It’s not just about sustenance," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "When an incubus feeds, it creates a connection. The human becomes... bound to us in ways that can’t be undone. Their life force becomes intertwined with ours."

"And?" she prompted, though her heart was beating so fast she could barely hear her own voice.

"And if I feed from you, truly feed, you’ll never be free of me," he said, the words coming out like a confession. "You’ll be mine in every way that matters. The bond is absolute, irreversible."

The admission hung between them, loaded with implications that made her head spin. She thought of Dr. Morrison’s words about unprecedented emotional connections, about the way Grayson had been starving himself rather than risk hurting her.

"Is that what you’re afraid of?" she asked softly. "That I won’t have a choice?"

His eyes snapped to hers, and she saw the raw truth there. "You deserve better than being bound to a monster."

The self-loathing in his voice made her chest ache. Without thinking, she closed the remaining distance between them, reaching up to frame his face with her hands. He went rigid at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.

"You’re not a monster," she said firmly, holding his gaze. "I’ve seen monsters, Grayson. I lived with people who were cruel and calculating and took pleasure in causing pain. You’re not like them."

"You don’t know what I am," he whispered, but his hands came up to cover hers, holding them against his face as if they were anchoring him.

"Then show me," she said, surprised by her own boldness. "Stop trying to protect me from the truth and show me what you really are."

The quiet was electric, and she could see the moment his careful control began to slip. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as his supernatural nature rose to the surface. The temperature in the room seemed to spike, and she felt an answering heat bloom in her chest.

"Mailah," he said, her name a warning and a prayer.

"I’m not afraid of you," she said, though that wasn’t entirely true. She was afraid—of the intensity of her feelings, of the unknown future, of the very real dangers they faced. But she wasn’t afraid of him, not in the way he feared she should be.

His thumb traced across her cheekbone, and the faint tremor that ran through her didn’t escape him. "You should be," he whispered. "Everything I touch falls apart. It’s the curse of what we are."

"Not everything," she whispered, leaning into his touch. "Not me."

The kiss, when it came, was inevitable.

He seized her, pulling her flush against the hard lines of his body, and the sound that left his throat was raw, almost savage. His mouth claimed hers with a hunger that burned like wildfire, consuming and unrelenting.

The first brush of his lips sent a shockwave through her, stealing her breath, unraveling her thoughts. Then he deepened it—slow at first, a coaxing tease, before his tongue swept into her mouth with ruthless possession. She tasted him—darkness and heat, sin and salvation—and it was intoxicating, more potent than any elixir.

His hand slid into her hair, fisting the silken strands as he angled her head back, forcing her to take more, to surrender to the inferno of his kiss.

The other roamed her body with unrestrained greed, tracing curves, memorizing every contour like a man starving for a taste he’d been denied for centuries.

She could feel his power in that kiss—electric, relentless, a pulse of something otherworldly that called to the deepest, most hidden part of her soul. It whispered of danger, of pleasure sharp enough to wound, and still she leaned in, drowning willingly.

When his teeth grazed her lower lip, she gasped, and he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him. The taste of her seemed to drive him past reason; he kissed her harder, deeper, until there was no space between them.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against hers. "Three days," he said, his voice rough. "We have three days to figure this out."

"Then we’d better not waste them," she replied, surprised by her own determination.

Looking into his eyes, seeing the way he looked at her as if she were his salvation and his damnation rolled into one, she realized that the peaceful life she had imagined was never going to be possible. But perhaps, she thought as his arms tightened around her, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

The supernatural world had claimed her the moment she walked through the doors of this estate.